


Meteor Showers from St. Petersburg

by elsa



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Switch AU, First Meetings, First Time, Just the Beginning, M/M, POV Victor Nikiforov, Pre-Series, magical body switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 23:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsa/pseuds/elsa
Summary: Everyone's nice when you're an adorable-looking fifteen year old skating prodigy. Having a crush on Yuri Katsuki was a bad idea, not the least because he seemed to run away from Victor's physical presence every time they talked.





	

That boy at the counter was cute, Victor thought.

It was a cool and bright afternoon. He had walked to the cheerful, bustling cafe across the street. 

They were hosting a week-long skating show for charity in St. Petersburg, and the main city rink had been filled with skaters and ice dancers flying in from around the world. 

"It'll be a huge waste of time," Yuri said that morning, yanking his jacket out of the locker. "I don't know why you're not going." 

"It's supposed to be for new rising stars," Victor said, leaning cheerfully against the locker. "I already went in previous years. It's a lot of fun. It'll be perfect for you!" 

Yuri gave him a death glare and stalked away. 

Victor looked again, at the counter, at the boy ordering coffee. Definitely cute. Messy black hair, big brown eyes... and a perfect figure skater's build too, come to think of it... but there now, Victor was probably spending too much time working at the shop. 

At this point the boy looked up and looked right at Victor, and blushed. 

Victor sat down near the window to sip his coffee, then he got up and walked out at the same time in the corridor, now and then giving him a small smile. The boy weakly smiled back. He looked quickly away, then he looked at Victor again, shyly. They had reached the sidewalk. 

Victor was just about to open his mouth to say something when he heard someone shout, "Is that Victor Nikiforov?" and he was abruptly nearly run over by a crowd of photographers and fans. 

He signed autographs, posed for photos, and escaped; but the boy was gone.

The wind swirled around and picked up the edges of his jacket as he walked outside. There were going to be meteor showers that night and St. Petersburg had a mystical, anticipatory air. The whole sky seemed to be under a magical dome. 

He had to get back to practice, and maybe talk to Yuri about taking it easy on his quad jump, and keep everything running. Yuri was stressed with all the pressure of preparing for a senior debut, and Victor needed to finish polishing up his choreography for that year's Grand Prix...

I wonder who he was. It was like a missed connection. 

.

The city skating rink where the performances were being held wasn't the same as his home rink, so it took some time to walk back. As he walked in the door and stopped by the locker room he heard what sounded like enraged animal screaming. 

"Is that, um--"

"Yuri," the receptionist said with a sigh. 

Victor grabbed his skates and ran in. Yuri was in what looked like a pitched screaming match with Yakov and Georgi.

"-- holding me back! I'll show you!" 

"You can't keep doing this! You'll injure yourself!" Yakov screamed back. 

"Yuri, I'm sure everything will be alright. Hey, cheer up," Victor tried, and he stepped in between them and ended up getting punched in the face by Yuri's flailing. 

Yuri screamed again, burst into enraged tears, and ran away. 

"That boy is overwrought," Yakov ground out, looking like he regretted deeply every moment of his life that had led to him to be standing there at that moment. 

"Ow," Victor said, holding his eye. Georgi gave him an awkward consoling pat on the back. Getting kicked or punched by Yuri was a regular workplace hazard these days. 

The next morning, Victor woke up in bed, covered in a dark duvet. He was never really a morning person, so this thought didn't alone put him on guard. There was a large Persian cat sleeping on his chest, but he was easygoing and took it in stride. Everything -- the bed, the pillow, the doorframes -- felt a bit larger. It was only when he removed the cat and wandered over to the bathroom mirror and saw startled green eyes looking back at him that he screamed. 

He heard the front door slam open and a reciprocal, deeper scream downstairs, with a quick patter of steps. He stared up -- he was so much shorter -- into the blue eyes of a familiar face, before he felt a stomach bending jerk and he had switched positions and was standing in the doorway, staring at Yuri Plisetsky, who was sprawled on the ground. 

"Oh my god!" Yuri shrieked. 

.

"OK, I might have done something last night," Yuri said, grudgingly. Victor had dragged him up onto the rooftop deck to explain himself, where Yakov, who had a room on the other wing of the house, might not hear and awaken.

"You did something," Victor repeated flatly. He felt a rampant headache coming along. Stay calm, he thought. It was a relief to be in his own body again, but he did not count this as a positive thing. 

"During the star showers," Yuri mumbled. 

"What, exactly, did you do?" 

"I wished I could have it as easy as you sometimes! I didn't expect--" he waved his hand, presumably encompassing the entire 'forced unwilling magical body switch' situation. 

"So you woke up in my apartment IN MY BODY and ran over here. How long is this going to last?"

"I don't know! A week, maybe?" 

Victor put his face in his hands and counted slowly to ten. He was lucky, he thought, that the Grand Prix qualifiers started in three weeks, or he might really be tempted to exchange some sharp words about Yuri's punk evil revenge plan. 

"I was mad yesterday, alright? It's less than a few hours of body swapping a day," Yuri said furiously, standing up. "I'm not letting it interfere with my Grand Prix Final training. I'm winning gold in the junior division this year! And anyone who gets in my way can -- "

"Alright," Victor said hastily. Yuri glared at him some more. 

"Can we agree," Victor said in the silence, "that I was very nice yesterday, and I did not agree to be turned into a fifteen year old --" 

"You literally act like you're twelve, so it's an improvement," said Yuri, and stomped off. "I'm going to go to the studio for class. And to eat something. Your apartment has no food."

.

I need to tell people I've got a cold or the flu or something for a week, Victor thought, back in his apartment, giving himself a long freaked out look in the mirror, a breakfast smoothie pulled from frozen berries in the freezer, yogurt, extra protein powder, purring contentedly in the blender. Victor always thought Yuri was probably a sweetheart deep down -- youthful high spirits and all that -- but he had to admit it wasn't a sure thing that anyone else Yuri punched in the eye would feel the same. 

Yuri had told him that if they body-switched again he was supposed to act normal and under no account skip practice and sabotage his chance at the Grand Prix. He said, you better keep up with my training plan. 

Just last week, Yuri had gotten in a fit of anger over his poor endurance and snuck off to the local track and ran four hundred meter sprints in freezing weather until he threw up over Georgi when he tried to stop him. 

Victor said he would try his best. 

Good luck to that, anyway, he thought. I don't even remember being a teenager; it was so long ago. 

Oh. I remember now: Sofia, Bulgaria and winning the junior world championship with the highest score in history. 

There was a time when he was skating with so much joy it seemed to brim up from him; he was skating alone but he wanted that feeling to leap off the ice for everyone watching to see. He wanted that joy he was feeling then to stay with them forever. 

People had started looking at him, really looking, after that. He got first class flights, an apartment in the city; people gave him everything he wanted. And he had learned some things about himself. Yakov was strict and protective and worried that he was getting flashy and arrogant, bursting in to his hotel room after a competition, suspecting him of smuggling alcohol. 

"Do you think your coach saw me?" the senior American championship figure skater that Victor had smuggled in whispered, getting out from under the covers after Yakov had hurriedly closed the door.

"Um, yeah, probably, sorry-- wait-- he's nice really--"

"I've got to go." 

Victor had thought, why are people like this? if I were older, I'd be different. I'd be more understanding. 

He knew what he needed then: he needed love. 

"Makkachin, do you want to go for a walk? You sweetheart." 

He cut his hair short around then. It was getting him the type of attention he didn't want. Besides he had things to do. 

His apartment suddenly felt cold, too cold and empty. He'd made it now; he was finished. He didn't need to prove anything, to anyone, any longer. Happiness was knowing when to say: enough. 

.

Nell was the Swiss national team's assistant coach these days, and Victor still remembered his friendliness years ago, when they were in training camp together. He liked going for trail runs, and whenever they were in the same city they tried to do one together. 

"Victor, you've got to stop working so much," he said to him. They reached the top of the vista point of the park and he stretched. "I dragged Chris along to this trip -- you know I'm coaching some of the top junior Swiss skaters -- we're both really loving St. Petersburg. Why don't you join us for coffee and then come meet them, see them skate tomorrow?"

"Sure, I think I can manage it. I haven't seen Chris since last year's Grand Prix, how is he?"

"Oh, the same. I'm trying to get him to move in with me. It's down to me or that cat... I think I can manage the cat. How about you? Are you seeing anyone now?" 

"No, I'm not even out, really. I've been busy, too. I saw someone really cute at the coffee shop a few days ago, though. The one near the city skating rink."

"Did you talk to him? Oh, no. Did you start out by asking him if he wanted a photo?" 

"We didn't even get to talk, some paparazzi found me and then he was gone." 

"Well, you can never with these cute boys. Anyone cute you see at the skating rink, or after competitions, you can forget about it."

"You're probably right. I need a change of scene, really." 

"Can't blame you. Is Yuri Plisetsky still being difficult, and screaming at everyone?" 

"I don't mind that so much. He's sweet deep down." 

"Right, I forgot; you like the moody ones." 

.

Alright, he thought, the next day at practice, psyching himself up. Just some regular old temporary magical body switching. I can do this. He put on Yuri's skates, stepped cautiously on the ice, lost his balance and promptly fell on his face. 

Yuri skated over to him. Victor rolled over and looked up. Lying on the ice was comfy and familiar; it was where he spent a lot of time as a kid. It was bizarre seeing his own blue eyes narrowed with Yuri's haughty dislike. And Yuri skated just like him. Of course, he and Yuri had shared the same rink for years, they had the same coach, it was natural that they would skate similarly...

"Why are you here?" Yuri asked impatiently. "I don't start afternoon practice until an hour from now." 

"Oh. Really?" Victor checked his watch, and suddenly felt cheered. "Well, I'm supposed to be helping Yakov and substituting with one of the pair skaters today," he said, "so you better go." 

It was pretty funny to see Yuri's enraged expression.

"Fine," Yuri managed. 

Victor got up, took off the skates and put on some sneakers.

Really, being Yuri Plisetsky for a few hours a day was pretty great.

Little old ladies gave him directions to everywhere and smiled fondly. He got an extra helping of veggies at the sandwich shop. He walked with a bounce in his step. He was constantly hungry no matter how many donuts and piroshkis he ate.

When he came back for afternoon practice he watched Yuri help Yakov with the pair skate and then practice his own program with great intensity. 

Of all people, he thought. If Victor had seen magical wish-granting shooting stars, he'd be swimming in a pool, sipping coconuts, he'd be on vacation in a beach somewhere south, right now, definitely. But Yuri practiced more than ever. He was going to sell his soul or something, Victor thought with alarm, watching his increasingly difficult jumps. 

"Yuri, maybe we shouldn't be skating when we're switched like this," he tried. 

"Too bad," Yuri said. "This is incredible. It's like being a rocket launcher. I've never been able to jump this high. I'm in a video game. If I had freakish kangaroo ankles like this and a center of gravity up near the sky I'd have won more than four world championships, you slacker." He skated off. 

It was unreal. 

He didn't think he could land a single jump as Yuri, but apparently Yuri had adjusted quite quickly to being Victor. And it had never occurred to Victor that his reputation was such that he could apparently completely blow off practice without any comment.

"Is no one going to ask Victor why he's spending practice skating Yuri's program?" he finally asked Georgi. 

Georgi shrugged, focusing on putting on his skates. "He's Victor; he can do what he wants." Victor saw Yakov glance at Yuri, notice he was skating the wrong program, and look resigned. 

"The biggest question I have," Yuri said, once Georgi left, "is that I don't know how you stay so calm and happy all the time." He reflected. "Actually, I thought you were on drugs."

"I'm not," Victor said, stung. 

"I know that NOW." He jabbed a finger at Victor's chest. "You're not on drugs! That doesn't make you the most annoying skater here." 

Victor bore this criticism stoically. 

"You're ridiculous and vain and absurd," Yuri continued. 

Did he really think he was on drugs? How much cocaine could one get for numerous cut glass crystals and decorative orbs and Olympic medals and championship trophies, anyway? 

"and you've got the attention span of a golden retriever," Yuri snapped. "Just because you're -- physically perfect -- doesn't mean you have to act like a clown all the time." 

"What?" Victor said, laughing before he could help himself, which seemed to make Yuri angrier. 

"Yuri!" Yakov bellowed, nearly standing on top of Victor, and glaring. "Stop wasting time talking and practice your jumps!" 

"I can't, coach. I --" Yuri was glaring at him -- "I'm not feeling well," Victor improvised. "I think I have a headache." Yuri now looked apoplectic. 

Yakov stared at him and backed off a bit. 

"Well for god's sake go sit down and take it easy," he said, frowning. 

"Alright," Victor said cheerfully, jumping up and hugging him. 

As he walked away he thought he heard Yakov sputtering in shock and everyone staring at him as if he'd kidnapped the real Yuri Plisetsky and had hid the body. 

Yuri Plisetsky, who thought he was on drugs. 

.

Victor grew five inches the year he turned fifteen, and he kept falling, and all his quad jump attempts kept turning into triples. People said: oh, it's harder to get rotations in when you're taller; it's just physics, you know. He thought: I don't want this to be over for me, not now. He practiced his jump a lot that year, and did sprints, and when he took his skates off every night, his ankle and calves felt stiff and sore.

His friends at school started teasing him that year that he could clean out in the high jump event if he joined track, and Victor said inflatable landings did sound fun. All of it was just for that feeling in competition, that split second gravity defying moment at that highest point when he started turning into his rotations, and he got them: four of them. 

"Victor, are you alright?" Victor saw Yuri stretching after practice, turning his ankle gingerly and looking at it. "Victor, Yakov needs you to spot for pairs today." The other skaters had to repeat the name twice before Yuri responded. 

.

Really, it was fantastic. He took it easy while skating; this was going to be a week-long vacation. He ate more donuts; he petted Yuri's cats.

He was at home the next day, switched back and on his couch trying to figure out how to choreograph his next program. Makkachin was curled up on the couch next to him, thumping her tail gamely as he hummed a few classical songs. Suddenly he was somewhere else. 

It took a few moments to orient himself: the city skating rink. It was getting into the evening, there was a ray of sunlight through the window, hitting the dust motes in the air, scattering rainbows, and there was the sound of skates on ice. Victor had heard the sound of skates nearly every day for twenty years; it should have sounded crisp and precise and hard and familiar. 

Victor slowly looked up. 

"Hello," he said, after a minute. 

The boy in the athletic jacket with Japanese characters on it stopped expertly and smiled at him. Just the sound of his skates shifting was musical and light, the faint sound dissolving into air. "Hi," he said. 

Victor blinked. He was on the floor back at home. Makkachin was nudging his chin worriedly, getting under his arm. Victor got up, squeezed his eyes shut and thought: this was so embarrassing. 

"Are there any other new skaters this year?" he asked Yuri the next day in the locker room.

"What? No." 

"Who's the person you've been sharing a rink with during your second practice?" 

"I share a rink with tons of idiots. We switch all the time." 

"Yesterday, I mean."

Yuri slammed his locker in exasperation. "You've got to be more specific."

"Dark hair," said Victor. "Japanese jacket. Pretty stepwork. Really cute." 

Yuri stared at him. Then he said, "if you're talking about Yuri Katsuki--"

That was a cool sounding name, Victor thought. 

"He's completely dumb," said Yuri. "And he falls. All the time." 

"He's new, though, right?" Victor persisted.

Yuri gave him a look of withering scorn. "He won gold at the Japanese nationals last year. Do you not pay attention to anything?" 

"I... I guess not," said Victor. 

"He flubbed his jumps twice during the free skate and still won on non technical points, that loser," Yuri said. 

Yeah, he'd get PCS points for sure, Victor thought. Yuri looked at him suspiciously. Victor looked down, trying not to smile. He felt his heart skip a beat a little, that time honored feeling: anticipation. 

.

The next day, Victor got coffee with Nell and some other skaters, and then went back with them a little before lunch. Chris Giacometti was there, looking relaxed and like he had spent the day touring and visiting to museums and having long leisurely brunches and generally working very little.

He was chatting with some of the female skaters, but he brightened up when he saw Victor, and tried to get him to skate. 

"Everyone's taking a break right now for the next shift, they won't mind if we get a few loops in," Chris said lightly. "You have your skates, right?"

"We shouldn't. Besides I'm in street clothes." He was carrying a gym bag for practice later, though, so this was really just an excuse. 

Chris dropped his voice and dipped his chin and smiled at him with great charm. "Oh, come on, Victor. I want to see that quad flip again." 

Definitely need to learn how to do that from Chris, Victor thought, in the locker room, later. He was undressing, the borrowed locker key in its place. At that moment, Yuri Katsuki walked in. 

Yuri stopped at the threshold, then he ducked his head and walked determinedly to a locker in the assigned section a few feet away from Victor. He put his gym bag on the bench but he seemed to have trouble finding his key, and when he did he dropped it immediately on the ground. He picked it up, then he got the right key from his keyring, tried the wrong locker as the key wouldn't work; then he got the right locker and finally wrenched it open with a rattling bang. Victor watched him. 

"Hi," said Victor. "You're Yuri Katsuki, right?" 

"Yes. You're, um. Victor."

"Victor Nikiforov." Victor introduced himself. "My teammate Yuri -- Yuri Plisetsky, I mean -- told me you won the Japanese nationals last year. I watched it, it was great!" 

"Oh. I-- thank you. Thanks." 

Victor leaned against the locker and conjured a very successful smile.

"I haven't seen you before. Is this your first year in the Grand Prix qualifiers? Where are you from? How long are you staying in St. Petersburg? Tell me about what you think about the city..." 

Yuri gazed up at Victor and his pupils were very dark and wide. He jerked away looking frantic and mumbled a few words. The more Victor flirted with him the quieter he got. After a minute Yuri grabbed his jacket from the locker and nearly ran out, leaving Victor looking after him in confusion and disappointment. 

Chris was still with the other skaters when Victor got back to the main floor. They must have looked like a sight, the top two skaters in the world casually going around as if it were a skating rink at a public park. 

Normally Victor wouldn't do something like this, but he felt in pretty good form today. The rink had emptied at this point, but people were stopping what they were doing; he heard people say, "That's Victor Nikiforov!" and "is he skating his new program?" If he showed off a bit more than usual, that was only natural. 

Victor liked lounging and napping and relaxing and going out and hugging his teammates and playing tug of war with his dog and maybe Yuri Plisetsky got mad at him because he was turned off a lot of -- well, most -- well, maybe nearly all the time; but Victor could turn it on, no problem. There was a time when he could turn it on more intensely than anyone else. He had the most reliable jumps in the business. And: he knew he looked good. 

Afterwards, he said, casually, "well, it's something like that." 

Chris was leaning against the wall. "Victor. What has gotten into you," he said, smiling. 

In the corner of his eye, he saw Yuri Katsuki gazing at him some distance away. Victor looked up and gave him a deliberately flirty smile. Yuri went pink and the last thing Victor saw of him was his back as he sprinted off. 

Chris, watching this, started laughing. 

.

Yuri Plisetsky finally got fed up with Victor lounging around eating donuts during practice, and he dragged him to his double practices and made him watch. 

"Hi Yuri," Victor said to Yuri Katsuki nearly every chance he got. Yuri Katsuki jumped, turned around, skated backwards. Victor looked down; the inside edge of the blade of Yuri's skates were dipping, unbalancing slightly. Yuri said, "Hi, Victor." 

"What are you working on?" Victor said cheerfully, leaning over the side of the rink. 

"Oh, nothing special." 

"Are you performing a program tonight?" 

"Yes, in the evening." 

"It must be really fun, isn't it?" 

"It's a bit tiring, actually." 

After several minutes of this, Yuri said he needed to practice, and skated to the other side of the rink. 

"Wow, he's cold. He probably doesn't like you," Yuri Plisetsky said, coming up next to him. 

Victor sighed. Yuri was a bit of a strain sometimes. "Aren't you supposed to be practicing?" he said, slanting his eyes sideways. 

"Yes," Yuri said. He took a drink of water and looked across the rink. 

Victor wasn't sure why Yuri was acting so hostile; he thought Yuri Katsuki was a just lovely skater. Even from across the rink he could see the his sequence full of verve and structural complexity, a jolt of something fresh and modern in Victor's familiar world. There was an overarching story in it, too: and it sank into Victor like a harmony, unheard and brand new. 

"He probably thinks you're really old," Yuri added. 

.

Victor felt playful all the time still; he liked to laugh with journalists, still felt a smile whenever talking to Georgi or Yakov or even watching Yuri Plisetsky's determinedly bombastic jumps. But maybe, he thought, glancing at the mirror the next morning, the skin under his eyes was a bit thin and strained when he worked too hard. There were freckles on his neck now, too much time in the sun, on the back of his arms. But these things had happened so quickly and suddenly that he had felt no change in himself at all. 

The next time he switched with Yuri it was while he was breathing blissfully in the scent of fresh coffee at the downstairs cafe. Yuri was at practice, and it was in the middle of the jump. Victor couldn't land it or adjust his balance in time and he went sprawling across the ice and hit the wall hard. 

He hadn't missed a jump in quite a while and perhaps it was just shock that made him feel numb, looking at a brand new world.

"Hey! Are you alright? You're Yuri Plisetsky, aren't you?" 

"I can't believe you," Victor said to Yuri Plisetsky in the men's locker room, later. "You've been sharing a rink all this time with Yuri Katsuki all this time and haven't spoken to him once? He doesn't even know you!"

"Believe me, I'm not talking to that loser. The first time we talk will be after he loses a competition and I'm kicking the door down to tell him he's a complete failure," Yuri said. 

"I-- I don't think that will be possible," Victor said, after a lengthy pause. 

Yuri Katsuki was kneeling next to Victor on the ice. Victor cracked his eye open. He was starting to think Yuri was a bit of a snob, so he didn't respond right away. 

"It looked like you hit the wall pretty hard." 

"Oh, I'm fine." 

"Wait -- your nose is bleeding." Yuri took a packet of tissues out of his pocket and offered it to Victor. Victor held it to his nose and got up, then winced. He let Yuri help him up and usher him to the benches and sat him down. Victor eased off his skate and moved his ankle gingerly. 

Yuri knelt on the ground next to his skate, watching. "Do you mind if I look at it? -- yes, it doesn't look like you've sprained it. But you should rest it. Do you want me to get you some ice?"

"It's fine, I--" but Yuri had already whisked away. 

He came back with an ice pack and fussed over him. "You're in the junior skating division -- you're competing in junior worlds this year, right?"

"Yes." 

"I almost feel like it's unfair we share the same first name. You're such a good skater. Those quad salchows are incredible."

"I. Um. Thanks. Thank you." Victor looked at the smile Yuri had around his eyes. He isn't snobby at all, he thought. 

Yuri glanced around quickly and said, pleasantly, "Alright, I better get back. Rest for bit, won't you?" 

He got up and left. He stopped to talk to some other skaters, then put his skates on. Victor watched him move casually and a bit pensively across the ice, not focusing too much, showing a beautiful balletic line. He had turns that seemed to float, and steps that paused in a way that brought to mind a happiness like a contented sigh. 

"Yuri." 

"Yuri!" One of the coaches was looking at him. "There's a meeting in the juniors section. Please come over." 

"Yuri, are you alright?" Mila asked when he got there.

"I think my heart is racing," Victor said. He was in love, he thought; it must be love. 

"You're overdosed on caffeine," Mila said practically. "You should really stop drinking cups of that stuff every day, you know how Coach feels about that."

"Oh, right," Victor said meekly. 

Mila gave him an odd look. 

At this moment Yuri Plisetsky walked in. 

"OH MY GOD! IT'S VICTOR NIKIFOROV!" someone shrieked. It was an even busier day than usual and Yuri Plisetsky, who had looked haughty and remote, was instantly surrounded. Girls were screaming and fainting. 

Yuri Katsuki skated up behind him and began watching the commotion.

"It must be hard that Victor can't just walk in to watch us practice without attracting such a huge crowd," he said.

"He's probably used to it by now," Victor said cheerfully. 

"Victor, I love you!" someone shouted. 

"Oh my god, he's so beautiful!" 

Victor saw Yuri Plisetsky distinctly roll his eyes. 

.

Victor practiced his new short program that evening under Yakov's watchful eye.

He carefully balanced, enjoying that calm relaxed confident feeling he always had got right before a high scoring jump. His skates hit the ice with a crisp sound: perfect. 

What is this unfamiliar feeling, that stole up on him unaided, catching him by surprise? It brought to mind a familiar longing, though with a different object. Victor had always wanted it, ever since he was a teenager, badly; had lived with it until it felt like a fatal weakness. It was an unrelenting desire to prove wrong anyone who said he was too tall, his body type was wrong, that he couldn't jump, that he was just a pretty empty headed face. 

People always said he and Yuri Plisetsky were complete opposites, nothing alike. But the first time he saw Yuri skate, empathy stirred up in him and never left. Ambition was an inside job. 

And all that rushed back to him now and faded away. 

"Victor, slow down, you still have plenty of time... there." 

Victor slowed down, looked up: he was feeling something he had forgotten he ever had. Joy wasn't strong enough, couldn't last. Ambition couldn't get him there; only love could do that. He felt more than saw Yakov silent with pleasure. 

He didn't understand why he and Yuri fought so much. Yakov was the best coach ever, had seen Victor through pretty much everything -- the crowds, the paparazzi, the brief time when Victor thought he wanted to quit and just be a regular teenager. After he came back he started winning gold medals and never stopped. All he needed was someone to believe in him. 

.

The next morning, Yuri Plisetsky came over to his apartment and yelled at him for not landing his jump. 

"Look at this bruise," he said, falling over on Victor's couch and rolling up his pants to the knee. "It's all your fault, jerk! Give me an ice pack." 

Victor went to the kitchen and got him a bag of frozen peas. 

As their fingertips touched he felt that abrupt, tingling dissolution. When he opened his eyes the ceiling was a lot further away, and there was a bruise on his knee. He meekly took the bag of peas.

"This is too weird," Yuri said, staring at him. 

"Well, the good news is that this will be over soon, right?" Victor said. "Not that I mind or anything, it's just a bit hard to practice my Grand Prix program." He had to sneak in at night to get some practice in if he kept switching places with Yuri. 

"Yeah, I need to be back at the skating rink in a bit today. I... hey! what are you doing?" 

"I was going to take Makkachin out for a walk before you came. Anyway I still need to do it. She gets confused if it's not the same time." 

"I can walk your dog," Yuri bristled, grabbing at Makkachin's leash. "Hey, Makkachin. I'm Victor." 

Makkachin backed away suspiciously and barked at him. 

"Hi Yuri, is that your dog?" Yuri Katsuki said, after Victor had walked, with a sulky Yuri Plisetsky behind him, to the city skating rink. Makkachin was wagging her tail, following skaters around. 

"It's Victor Nikiforov's, I'm watching her for the moment," said Victor. Makacchin got right up next to Yuri and began looking up at him worshipfully, drooling a bit in his lap, getting some on his pants. Victor was usually good about following the rules. He wondered if dogs were allowed here. He could probably say... 

Yuri said, "I love dogs," and gave her a friendly pat. Makkachin licked his hand and he laughed and his eyes crinkled up: adorable, Victor thought. 

"I have a dog like this one at home, he's a sweetheart," he confided. 

"Do you?" said Victor. 

"Yes. His name is --" Yuri blushed suddenly, and looked away. "Makkachin's too cute, though," he said.

There was a short pause. 

Everyone's nice when you're an adorable-looking fifteen year old skating prodigy, Victor thought, looking away and staring determinedly at the ground. It's different when they're grown up. Having a crush on Yuri Katsuki was a bad idea, not the least because he seemed to run away from Victor's physical presence every time they talked. 

He had the sense that underneath Yuri's reserve there was a depth, a solid core of something exciting and dangerous, but perhaps it was silly to take his imagination so far...

Makkachin jumped up and began licking Yuri's face. "I-- on my god, Makkachin, stop," Victor said, desperately, pulling her off. 

"What's he like?" Yuri asked, petting Makkachin again. Makkachin wriggled and rolled over on her back blissfully; Yuri slid onto the floor. "Victor, I mean," said Yuri.

"He's. um." 

Yuri stood up and looked across the rink where Yuri Plisetsky had just walked in, talking to some other skaters, looking cool and self collected and almost cerebral, and better at it than Victor ever was. Yuri Katsuki had a pensive expression. Victor stopped talking. It was almost wistfulness, as if Yuri had a rush of memories about this moment, as if he had lay awake at night, thinking about watching Victor Nikiforov. Victor immediately dismissed this idea as absurd. 

"Yuri, you know that's Victor Nikiforov, right?" Chris asked, walking by. 

Yuri went pink and spun around. "Yes." 

Chris looked at Yuri like he was being very stupid. 

"So..." 

"So, what?" Yuri said defensively. 

"So maybe you should ask him out already, he's literally a skating legend," said Chris in exasperation, walking off. 

"Oh my god, Chris," Yuri yelled after him; he was crimson. 

He turned. 

"Yuri, are you alright?" 

"Yeah," said Victor, sliding down onto the ice. 

Fortunately Yuri Plisetsky came over some time after that.

"Hey. You," he said, abruptly, pointing at Victor. He dragged Victor off and made him sign a collected stack of autographs for a half hour. When they switched back, Yuri Plisetsky said, "finally," and stomped off. Victor watched him walk back to join the rest of the skaters at practice and put his skates on. 

"Hi Yuri," Yuri said in a friendly way.

"Shove it, moron," Yuri Plisetsky replied.

.

The next day, Victor was skating a few circles desultorily at practice later, trying not to fall. Yuri Plisetsky had absurd proportions, he thought, legs up to here, coltish and freakishly fast. Now that he thought about it, he didn't think anyone else skating at the same level looked like him. Some time later, he looked up and saw Yuri lean over the rink and gaze at him coldly. 

"Hey," said Yuri. He was about a foot taller than Victor, and wearing a cat sweatshirt that Victor didn't recognize. "I'm going home." 

"Alright. I'm going to stay here and try to work out my program for a bit." 

"You better give it up, you're about a missed step away from hitting my other knee," said Yuri deprecatingly. 

Watching Yuri look cool and unruffled in front of him, he still couldn't get over it: it was like Yuri was better at being a top skater than he ever was, as if Victor really been the one who was fifteen all this time. 

"Anyway, we just one more day of this, thank god," said Yuri. "You'll meet me at the house tomorrow night, right?" 

"Yes. This all went pretty well, considering. everything. You're better at being me than I am," Victor said, trying to smile, keeping his voice light. "You can skate like me, anyway." 

"Yeah, I'm aware of how much you suck at skating as me," said Yuri. But he looked down and suddenly smiled. 

"You're just in the juniors now, but you're going to be a great skater," said Victor. 

"I already AM a great skater," said Yuri, looking up quickly, going right back to that cold, I-dare-you blue eyed stare. "I'm going to be the best skater. Just you wait. Next year." He said, more quietly, "just you wait." 

Victor thought, suddenly, of Yuri Katsuki. 

When Yuri left, Victor skated a few circles, Yakov gazing suspiciously at him across the room.

He needed to take a break, he thought, drawing a long breath. 

Yuri Katsuki used to skate like there was no one else on the ice. Maybe he was from a small quiet town, maybe he used to go to the skating rink late at night as a teenager, when no one was around, just to hear himself think, and practice those nice, dreamy spins that made Victor's heart beat... 

Victor went to the side of the rink and sighed again. It was useless pretending to be Yuri Plisetsky, as if a body was something he could don and take off like a cloak: he couldn't be anyone other than himself. He'd already been here, he'd already done this, and the future was blurring for him, becoming indistinct from the past. 

At that moment the scenery dissolved around him.

He found himself standing in downtown St. Petersburg, back to his own body again; and surrounded by great drifts of snow. 

Yakov used to pile on the parkas onto Yuri's small frame; Victor had seen him make Yuri wear multiple pairs of socks, so WHY did Yuri insist on walking home in just a light jacket in this cold weather, he thought, shivering. The street was deserted, because only mouthy skating prodigies with something to prove would be outside, determinedly speed-walking, right now. Victor slowed down; his fingers were turning numb; snowflakes were landing and dissolving on his nose. 

He walked along the street and a few blocks later when he couldn't stand it anymore he ran into the nearest familiar building. He was shivering uncontrollably at this point; and found some space on the lower part of the stands. The skating rink was empty except for a few people. 

"I'll be there. I'm going back soon, but the break isn't over for a few more days..." 

He had subconsciously known about this, must have wanted it all this while. 

It was Yuri Katsuki, chatting to some of the other skaters. He turned and saw Victor. 

There was silence for a while. Yuri was carrying a gym bag, and wearing sneakers, and had a great puffy jacket next to him.

"I'll see you later, Yuri," his friend said, disappearing. Victor could hear them murmuring, and when he looked up Yuri was standing next to him. 

"Hi, Victor."

"Hi." 

After a moment, Yuri put the jacket down and sat next to him on the stands. "Staying here long? I think the rink is closing soon." 

"I'm just coming in to thaw myself out a bit. It started to snow as I was walking back home. I'll call a cab in a moment." Victor had taken off his mittens, and his hands were bright pink, raw and numb. He must have looked pretty frozen. 

Yuri looked at him. He said, "hey, come here." Victor gave him an uncertain, questioning look. Yuri leaned in and held Victor's hands in his own. 

Victor was too surprised to make a sound. Yuri was rubbing his hands against Victor's with rapid motions, chatting quietly about how he came up with this technique during winters in college to warm up, walking to practice in Detroit, and how it had helped with sports injuries...

Victor's fingers were tingling and painful; feeling and warmth was seeping back into them gradually but with great efficacy. How lovely, how extraordinary: it was working. Victor's ears felt hot; his cheeks felt hot. He was warming up everywhere. It went through him and heated him through to the core. And all he could think of was, looking at the dark sweep of Yuri's eyelashes, that he wanted to stand here and have Yuri hold his hands like that forever. 

"What do you think? Is that better?" 

Victor nodded. Yuri pulled back his hands; Victor let go with effort. 

"Yes. I'm sorry, you were just leaving. I'd better go."

"Victor..." 

Victor turned. He was silent. He thought, Yuri won't say anything. He wouldn't...

"Yes?" Victor said. "I was just going to go back home." Pause. "What are you up to?" he asked, diffidently; he could be reserved, he thought, if he wanted to. 

"Eli's leaving St. Petersburg, so we're all going to be at the hotel tonight. You should join us, it's..." Yuri paused. 

"Oh. Right. Chris is throwing a party for Eli, right?" Eli liked cheese and wine, and was a bit of the respectable, uptight type. 

"I think there'll be champagne," said Yuri. 

.

"Well, YOU'RE in a good mood," Yuri Plisetsky said, the next evening. It was nearly 2 in the morning, and Victor had napped that afternoon. He was sitting on the roof of Yakov's house.

"Where were you today, anyway? I didn't see you at practice this morning." 

"No, I was out today." Victor sat down next to him and handed him one of the two wool blankets he had grabbed from his apartment.

"Oh, right," Yuri said, "Chris's party," and he heard it in his voice: jeez, how unprofessional. "How was it?"

"It had to be shut down by the authorities," said Victor, snuggling up in the blanket. 

Yuri flipped the blanket over his head as if it physically pained him to look at Victor right then. 

Victor still believed in romance; he still believed in shooting stars. The first of it was coming on now, a sleek white dot in the dark sky, and he watched for a while, letting it sink into him like a vision. 

Finally, he asked, "Have you made your wish yet?" 

"Yes." 

"And, um, it wasn't..." 

"Believe me, if I had to spend another week as you I'd kill myself," said Yuri vehemently. "Also, Yakov took me aside today and talked to me about my drug problem, so thanks for that, by the way."

"Oh."

"Yeah, his suspicions started when you were me, apparently skating like you were on a tranquilizer." 

"I was just trying not to fall." 

"Yeah, I know." 

Victor closed his eyes again. 

Yuri finished his drink fast. Victor had had a stuffy twenty years, lots of classical ballet, and the new American hip hop on the speaker system seemed electrifying now.

"You know how to dance to this?" Victor asked, delighted.

Yuri, suddenly, smiled at him. It was a bit wicked. His shirt had, some time in the last half hour, become severely unbuttoned. He put his drink down, and Victor felt a shudder, a spark of recognition, something turning on as intensely as Victor could, meeting him more than halfway there. 

"Do you actually like that Yuri Katsuki?" Yuri asked, throwing his arm over his eyes, stretching, gazing out into the night sky. "Because he's an idiot." 

"I do like him. Do you mind?" 

"Oh, go ahead. You two should fool around and be as ridiculous as possible so I can win gold at the Grand Prix Final." 

"Thanks, Yuri," said Victor faintly. 

"I think he skates your old programs to relax." 

Victor sat up. "Really?" That was kind of cute, he thought. He should definitely tease Yuri about it later. 

"Yes," Yuri said grimly. He threw his arm over his face, and said, his voice muffled, at length, "Sorry for punching you in the eye last week."

"It's alright." 

"I'm pretty tired." Yuri said, "turns out that being you is pretty tiring." 

"You were only me for eight or nine hours, Yuri."

"I had to smile into cellphone cameras dozens of times a day. And help Yakov with recruiting. And talk to PR. And work on the program. And try to convince everyone I'm -- this, happy --" He paused, and his head drooped, almost unconsciously, on Victor's shoulder. "It was tiring," he mumbled. 

Victor hugged him. They watched the stars float. 

.

He wasn't tired, though. The thing was, it had been a long twenty years. But that week he was fifteen again, and watching Yuri Katsuki skate, and everything felt bright and brand new.


End file.
